


Start Me Up, Watch Me Go

by bobaheadshark



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Mechanics, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Capital-S Smut, F/M, Female Ejaculation, First Date Moves Fast, Los Angeles, Minor Kink Praise (Ben), One Night Stands, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rey gets slight makeover (it's explained), Rose Tico Cameo, Rose works for Rihanna because reasons, Sex, Three Fingers (lol), Valentine's Day Fic Exchange
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-13
Updated: 2020-02-13
Packaged: 2021-02-28 00:22:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,799
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22694740
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bobaheadshark/pseuds/bobaheadshark
Summary: “Seven grand is fine, and I’d be happy to tip you 30% for the fast turnaround,'' Ben blurted out, at the exact same time that Rey said: “I’ll charge you five if you agree to go on a date with me.”----Ben Solo takes The Falcon in for maintenance on Valentine’s Day, and gets more than he bargained for when he meets firecracker mechanic Rey Johnson.Or, a short story of two lonely idiots and a one night stand. A modern AU smut oneshot for #reylovalentines2020.
Relationships: Rey/Ben Solo, Rey/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren
Comments: 103
Kudos: 399
Collections: Reylo Valentine's Exchange 2020, Valentine's Day Collection





	1. 0 to 60, in 3.5

**Author's Note:**

  * For [reyloise](https://archiveofourown.org/users/reyloise/gifts).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shoutout to @proporgo for running this fantastic Reylo Valentine’s Exchange! Stoked to participate for the first time. 
> 
> For @reyloise, who wanted:
> 
> _“A fic inspired by/based on the song[Tomorrow](https://open.spotify.com/track/7I9BiCs8uTFfGkj02W1gxZ?si=9mOQHfg-Rniqlixj3WzhpA) by MIKA._  
>    
> Happy Valentine’s Day.
> 
> Also check out Lilibeth's [sketch](https://twitter.com/LilibethSonar/status/1241780146367070210) of Rey and Ben in the garage 😍 (Commissioned)

* * *

Ben Solo had gone in search of a mechanic, and found a date. 

The Falcon’s engine had emitted a familiar whine earlier as he exited the 405 down to West Olympic, which told him the car was at risk of a breakdown again. 

The ‘55 300SL Benz still turned heads on a good day – even Hux once admitted that it “purred like it belonged in a Bond movie” – but the roadster’s cerulean exterior hid an unholy mess of outdated wires and parts. In other words, it was a horrendously impractical car, even for Ben, who had the six-figure Partner’s salary for the upkeep. 

Good thing it was the last possession Han had entrusted to him before he’d passed, then.

Ben re-checked the address on Google Maps and drummed his fingers on the dashboard as he wondered how steep the bill would be this time. The dinged sign of _Plutt’s Garage and Auto_ beckoned, a bullish blotch in the bright skyline through the windscreen.

The place looked alright, even if the orange walls reminded Ben of a dentist’s waiting room, and the sign that read _Service with a Smile_ was so faded on the last three words that the sentiment seemed to have gone with it. The 3.1 star rating on Google Maps hadn’t filled Ben with confidence, but the usual crews he trusted up in Van Nuys or near LACMA were booked up or had taken the afternoon off to spend with their partners. Because, as one guy had explained to Ben earlier, “it was Valentine’s Day”, and apparently no one in the city was in any mood to work. 

Plutt’s would do.

In one smooth manoeuvre from second gear to first, Ben pulled the Falcon up to the stucco building and recalled a tip from the reviews, which told patrons to “ask for Rey”. He’d thought this had to be a typo, because who spelled their name like that, anyway?

He didn’t know what he’d pictured. A moustachioed man in his 50’s with the largesse of an oversized golden retriever, maybe – but the Ray he found was nothing like he’d expected. 

Instead, the lithe woman who greeted him wore a faded beige jumpsuit, tied her hair up in a practical bun, and lounged in her chair with the air of a streetwise tomcat about her. She whistled a jaunty tune, booted feet up on a wooden workbench as she tinkered with the metal bolt of a distributor. The rest of the engine was disassembled in picture-perfect neatness on her left-hand side. 

“I’m looking for Ray”, he ventured.

“Who’s asking?” she replied and dropped the parts onto the workbench with a clang. 

It didn’t escape his attention that she was beautiful, lit up with a soft halo from the lamp behind in a way that seemed at odds with the mechanical mishmash of the garage. A fleeting instinct almost spurred him to wipe away a streak of engine oil from her jawline, but he didn’t.

Instead, he tried not to stare as she gave him a firm handshake and ran through a rote explanation of how most people wrongly assumed she was “Ray with an A not Rey with an E”, and “wasn’t it funny because it was Rey like the sun, never heard that one before”. Then, she didn’t utter a word to him as she cracked open the hood of the Falcon to examine the problem. 

“Capacitor’s busted,” came the assessment within a minute and without preamble.

“I know that. What do I have to do to fix it?”

“Well, the structure’s intact, but some genius retrofitted the original 3.0-liter I-6 with a V-8, so I’ll need to adjust it for the torque and adapt the anterior gauge so the whole thing doesn’t fall apart.”

Ben had worked with Han on cars since he was a child, so he knew his combustors from his camshafts. It was frankly a miracle that she’d figured this out so fast, and it was also infuriating, because she was right. He just hadn’t thought to approach the problem from that angle before.

The sheer speed at which she’d parsed out the solution sent a ping of pleasure to the serotonin receptors in his brain and a rush of blood straight to his dick, which he tried to hide by shifting his weight from side-to-side. 

_Huh. So competency boners_ can _be literal,_ Ben thought.

“So, how much are we talking for the fix?” he said, attempting to move his train of thought swiftly on.

“Parts will set you back about $5,800 and maintenance will be $1,200.”

“ _Seven grand_? That’s daylight robbery.”

It wasn’t. He’d paid more before. He just wanted to get a reaction out of her. 

“Well, you can either pay it now and have your engine last another three years, or go somewhere else and be back here in three months because it’ll be busted again.”

She had a point. Ben didn’t know much about this Rey, but he found from their limited interaction that he quite liked her honesty. It was rare in his line of work, and in a town where everything operated like a labyrinthe funhouse of illusion. 

He considered his approach.

“I’ve read your Google reviews. I know you’re good. But this car’s a family heirloom, and it’s the tenth time it’s conked out in the last six months. Could use a little wriggle room here.”

“I’ll see what I can do,” was her cryptic response, before she pushed up her sleeves and hunkered down to work.

**##**

Ben decided to hang around. Since he’d taken the day off to clear his list of longstanding life admin, for once the team at Palpatine & Snoke had left him alone and not blown up his emails. It was two o’clock on February 14th, he had nowhere else to be, and she seemed okay with him loitering. 

They made a tennis match out of conversation as she tried to make sense of the jumble under the hood. When she wasn’t _talking_ to the damn car like it was a living thing, he learned a few things about her: that she grew up somewhere “North of Tennessee, South of Nowhere”, that she graduated top of her class at Inglewood Tech but couldn’t take up her UCLA aerospace scholarship “because even financial aid doesn’t make this city less expensive”, and he even laughed along with her entire villain’s backstory for Pio and BeeBee – the two resident spiders she’d christened in the Plutt Garage’s bathroom. 

Because she’d been so candid, Ben took her lead, and talked. More than he had with anyone in a long time. He talked about his thankless job at the entertainment law firm, his estrangement and subsequent reunion with his family when his Dad had gotten sick, and the time he turned twenty three and drove cross-country in the Falcon with only the radio and Chewie, the family wolfhound, for company.

“The Grand Canyon’s different when you see it with your own eyes,” he said, and felt a swell in his chest because he’d diverted her attention away from the car, even if it was for the barest of seconds. 

He also thought he caught a wistful look on Rey’s face when he’d reminisced about gunning it down the Pacific Highway with Joy Division on the stereo and the sun on his face. 

Then, her expression snapped closed when he asked if there was any Mr. Ray in her life. 

He felt like it’d been okay to broach the subject, since she’d glanced at his bare ring finger a few times. He also hadn’t missed her sidelong appraisal of him earlier when he sat in her chair and stretched his arms overhead, yawning. Not that he was showing off. Or that he did it again just to see if she would look. 

(She did.)

“No Mister, Missus, or anyone. Life’s too busy,” she said, as she worked. “I’m convinced that men like the idea of a female mechanic more than they do the reality. They’ll swipe right when I mention I work with cars, but the minute I let them know I take my work seriously and this isn’t some pornographic fantasy lay? They hightail it.”

“That sounds terrible.” 

“Believe me, the reality’s just kind of dull.” 

She gave a cam sprocket a final twist before she wiped her hands on her jumpsuit. 

“There. She’s good as new.”

“Google was right. You do work fast.”

“Rey Johnson, always gets the job done.” 

Rey waved her wrist with a quick flourish and gave a theatrical bow. Their eyes met, and then an awkward silence stretched between them as he recalled the discussion about pricing, both of them unsure where the conversation would lead since the transaction was well and truly drawing to a close.

“Seven grand is fine, and I’d be happy to tip you 30% for the fast turnaround,'' he blurted out, at the exact same time that _she_ said: “I’ll charge you five if you agree to go on a date with me.”

Everything screeched to a halt in Ben’s brain.

_What?_

_A date?_

_Did she just ask me out on a date?_

She recovered first. 

“Thanks for the tip, but that isn’t necessary. The fix ended up being pretty straightforward, and five grand will make Plutt unjustifiably happy as it is,” she said, as she put away her tools and avoided his eye contact. 

“And about the date. Thought I’d ask, since you’ve been staring at me like a mooncalf the whole afternoon.” 

Ben thought that if his jaw could unhinge, it’d be on the floor and he would’ve half-dragged it towards Rey like a neanderthal.

“I don’t mean to pry, but don’t you already have plans?”

“Did you _miss_ the part when I said that most of my dates end in disaster?” 

“Doesn’t this violate some...customer service code of ethics somewhere?”

She crossed her arms and glanced around the floor of the empty auto shop.

“Does it look like HR is here to care?”  
  
“No –”

  
“Do you feel exploited right now?”

“No but –”

“Do you feel you’re currently in any position where you’re scared, vulnerable or otherwise compromised, Mister 6’3 water-polo-point-guard with your Stanford Alumni Clubhouse parking sticker?”

“I wouldn’t say scared is the feeling, and point guard in water polo is not a thing, but –” 

“Regardless. We established earlier that you hate Valentine’s Day as much as I do, right?”

He blinked.

“Well yes, it’s a hyper-capitalist, performative, meaningless Hallmark holiday that preys on peoples’ insecurities to elicit –”

She waved her hand at him. 

“Great, so we can both hate it, together. My place, seven PM, 1283 on the corner of Smith and Bloomfield,” she said, examining a screwdriver as if it were a Rosetta Stone. “As for payment, address it to _Mitaka_ and drop it in the box on the way out, he’ll send you the invoice.”

Ben had no time to respond, because she pinned him to the spot with her stare, tossed the screwdriver back into her workbox, and walked the short distance to her office before she pulled the door shut behind her without another word.

_How am I so fucking turned on right now?_ he thought in the deafening silence.

All he could do was mumble a quiet “yes, ma’am” to the room as he reached into his pocket for his chequebook, and as he signed, he still wasn’t quite sure what he’d just agreed to.

  
  


**##**

  
  


_This was a very stupid, very disastrous, very bad idea_ , thought Rey as she stared at herself in the bathroom mirror. It was ten past six. 

She was good at pretending like she knew what she was doing. After all, you couldn’t survive a pack of dogs like Plutt’s being the only woman if you didn’t put all your cards and proverbial balls on the table once in a while.

Mixing work with play wasn’t usually her thing. She had her Sensible Rey goggles on at all times, literally and metaphorically. 

But the man who’d walked into the garage that day, oh, she’d noticed him. The way his chest stretched out his black _Ramones_ tee, the Ray-Bans perched on his angular nose like a warning rather than an invitation, the determined set of his mouth as he pulled up in the unmissable blue Benz – all of that had already been a sight for her sore eyes. The fact that Rey was five months deep in a sexual dry spell simply made matters a thousand times worse.

Guys like him? Normally took one look around the garage and either tried to hit on her (gross) or barely disguised their scepticism as she launched into detailed treatises on engine combustors and fluid level recalibration.

He hadn’t done any of that. Instead, he’d hung around like a lost, overgrown puppy for the entire afternoon, listened with sharp focus as she talked shop, and freely shared details about his admittedly colourful life when she asked him about it. 

Ben Solo, 32, hotshot lawyer, overpaid and overworked. Ran marathons and skewered IP contracts for sport. She learned that the Falcon was his Dad’s car, and although they’d had a difficult relationship, by the sounds of it he’d otherwise grown up in a postcard-nice, moneyed kind of household. Rey found his privileged moroseness fascinating, because she’d dealt with some real scum-of-the-earth types in her time. It was also how she knew, at an instinctive level, that Ben Solo was a good egg – even if his devil-may-care, “I used to spend summers with Kennedy Cousins in Cabo” attitude was more than a little practiced. 

The chit chat had been nice. It took her out of her mindless routine and she could pretend for an afternoon that they were just two wayward souls who’d met in the dappled shadows of her workshop, and got to talking.

And then she’d tightened the final bolt on the engine and had the most insane impulse, which was to ask him out. 

Because why not. Because maybe she was a little lonely. Because maybe so was he, and misery loved company – especially if company looked like _that_.

She probably should’ve sent him away with his car and kept the memory of him in her brain for some late night spank bank material, and left it at that. But for once, she wanted to do something reckless. Not spend Valentine’s Day comatose on her couch with a can of cheez whip and her crushing solitude. For once, she wanted to go and have some fun. Especially if fun looked like a man who wore way too much black, could probably bench press her with one arm, and drove that ridiculously fast car.

Because when a tall, handsome stranger was standing in _your_ garage, flicking his eyes up and down at you while you dismantled his engine and made it sing again... well. Who held the power, really? 

And wasn’t this what Rose meant when they’d toasted to “new year, new resolutions”? 

_Yeah._ Rey told herself. _This is all part of a plan._

Her confidence had held until she got off her shift. It started to waver when she realised she’d not been on a date in months and had spent her whole time at the garage so maybe she wouldn’t remember how to behave, and was terrified of doing something feral like using the wrong fork at dinner, or referencing a Simpsons episode with references so outdated that the night would be over before it began. Matters reached a crisis point when she realised she knew exactly how to jerry-rig a crankshaft to a carburettor, but no idea how to do use an eyelash curler.

This called for reinforcements.

Rose, thankfully, had answered her phone on the second ring and arrived at Rey’s within fifteen minutes, making the appropriate soothing noises. She sat with Rey on a repurposed milk crate and swigged a bottle of pineapple cider as she flicked a wing of brown eyeliner upwards with surgical precision. 

“I feel stupid.”

“Rey, shut up, you look amazing.”

“Remind me why I’m gussying myself up again? For a guy?”

“Because it’s not about doing it for a guy.” Rose said, as she turned Rey’s face from side-to-side. “When’s the last time you did something because it made you feel good? That was about spending time on yourself?”

“Don’t really have time for anything else at the moment. Everything’s work.”

“And that’s the problem! This year we’re saying ‘no’ to spending excessive emotional energy worrying about Plutt’s, and ‘yes’ to doing new things, remember?” 

“Yeah. But what if this is just...desperate?”

“Is wanting companionship desperate? Believing in romance? Wanting a fuller life, is that desperate?”

Rey watched in silence as Rose’s brush completed a few circular swirls in its compact.

“Independence is easy.” Rey said. “Fitting the puzzle of that into someone else’s life isn’t.” 

“Rey. You can’t build the puzzle if you won’t even give someone a chance to open the box.”

  
“Fine. But what if the box is defective?”

“I’m not dignifying that with an answer.”

“I just, I don’t even know why I’m bothering?” Rey said, as she clasped her knees to her chest. “I should be out there building, or planning, or working, or –”

“And you _are_. How many times have you and I cried over the phone because our hours are insane, or we deal with assholes, or I lost a mascara wand before the final runway or you put the wrong oil down a valve and thought everything was going to shit?”

“Plutt _is_ an asshole. And so are the hungry fashion week people who shout at you.”

“Yeah. But we deal, right? We take work seriously, that’s why I love us.”

Rose stopped and clasped Rey’s hands. “Give yourself permission to be multiple things at once. It’s not a crime against feminism to do a facemask more than once a year. And wanting someone to come home to at the end of your day doesn’t make you any...less. Okay?”

Rey sniffed as Rose yanked a tissue from a nearby box and dabbed at Rey’s cheek. 

“Thank you. You’re right. I’ve just not done this in… a really long while.”

“You’ll be fine. He said yes, didn’t he?”

“I wish I hadn’t asked.”

Rose brandished the lipstick brush in her hand at Rey like a scalpel.

“Stop that, because you are hot shit. Also, with all due respect, I’ve seen this dude’s LinkedIn photo, and if you _hadn’t_ asked him out, I would’ve disowned you for an entire week.”

Rey scrunched up her nose.

“You couldn’t ignore me for a whole week. Finn would drive you nuts.”

“You’re absolutely right. I’d call you within two days to apologise and then we’d figure out new ways to exploit the free trials on Classpass. But I would try.”

Rey snorted.

“Anyway, from what you said, Ben seems nice. Even if he preens in a ‘I-heli-ski-in-Tahoe’ kind of way.”

“I’d thought summer in Cabo.” Rey said, as she fistbumped Rose. “We obviously share one braincell. But really though, what if it’s a complete disaster?”

“Then you flash the Bat Signal, and I’ll come get you out of there.” Rose said, with a final swipe of gloss on Rey’s lower lip.

Rey stood up to examine herself in the mirror. Her hair was styled into loose tresses that framed her face in soft waves. Subtle touches of makeup drew attention to the green in her eyes and highlighted the angles of her face. Rose had also done something on Rey’s cheekbones that made glow – “because the Korean beauty YouTubers know where it’s at”, Rose had declared.

Whatever it was, it worked. Rey felt ready to conquer. 

Rey saw her friend’s beaming smile in the mirror and turned to squeeze her arm.

“Thanks for coming down, by the way. You must be back-to-back tonight.”

Rose waved her hand in dismissal. 

“Rihanna’s V-Day bash can wait. She of all people understands when a girlfriend’s got a friendmergency.”

“Rose! You did _not_ tell her that!”

“I so did. And she 100% endorses Ben’s LinkedIn photo.”

“Oh my god.” Rey almost put her face in her hands before she remembered her makeup. “Well, thanks for sending a fairy godsister in my time of need, Queen Ri.”

Rose grinned. 

“Always.”

After putting away her brushes, Rose found Rey in front of her closet with her arms crossed, biting a fresh line into her nails. 

It’d been an impulse buy, but the yellow floral sundress Rey donned was the kind of indulgently feminine thing she thought might be saved for a day like this. But she still felt wrong in it, like it was too soft and too much at the same time. 

Rose took one look at Rey’s nervous expression and tossed her a black jacket from where it had been crumpled on the bed. 

“The pièce de résistance.” 

Rey pulled it on, and it was as if the last piece of her armour slotted into place. It wasn’t the combo Rey would’ve thought of, but she had to admit: with this flower dress, her trusted leather jacket, and the converse – she felt like a million bucks.

“Ack, I’ve gotta run. Kaydel’s got a lipstick emergency and I’m the only one in all of West Hollywood with the old formulation of Ruby Woo, apparently.” 

“Sounds dire. Thank you though, Rosie.”

“Anytime. But hey, remember the point of this, okay?” said Rose, patting Rey’s shoulder. “Give him a chance. Worst case is, it’s one bad date, you can come home, and play Overwatch until your eyes fall out. Best case is, you get to go on a joyride, or uh, joyfully ride a ridiculously hot man.” 

Rey punched Rose in the arm. 

“Ow!”

“You deserved that.” 

Then they laughed and hugged goodbye, and after Rose dragged her tiny four-wheeled suitcase out the door with a promise to be available in case her friend needed a quick exit, there was nothing for Rey to do but wait. 

**##**

Ben pulled up to Rey’s house at exactly five-to, and cut the Falcon’s engine.

What was he doing? This was crazy. Valentine’s Day usually involved some combination of moping over contract drafts at the office, using the rowing machine until the burn made him forget about his misery, or firefighting a crisis on autopilot because a client decided to post a festive message to their ex on Instagram again.

Saying yes to a date with an attractive and highly capable woman? Not the type of thing he did. Picking up flowers from a corner florist? Seemed easy enough to do if it might brighten her day. Spending fifteen extra minutes ironing his pants to a perfectly pressed pleat? Worth the effort to maintain the Hallmark integrity of this moment. (Even if Hallmark was a scam.)

This was shaping up to be the most absurd evening of his entire life, besides the time Hux made him eat a jumbo bag of M&Ms in front of the Alamo Drafthouse because the usher refused to allow in food “from the outside”. 

The thought of chugging M&Ms filled Ben with less trepidation than spending an entire evening with Rey, though. 

He checked his watch, and the hands read seven. Smoothing his hands back and forth on the steering wheel, Ben inhaled for four and exhaled for eight counts before he stepped out of the car with the flowers, and took the twelve steps up to her porch. 

A taped note informed him that the doorbell didn’t work, so he knocked. He imagined she might open it laughing, maybe rousing for a fight. Perhaps she’d bring the same puckish energy from the garage to their… what was this again? Anti-Establishment V-Day Symposium of Two?

None of it mattered though, because the vision that greeted him in the doorway knocked all the air out of his lungs. 

When he remembered to breathe, he registered that Rey wore a sundress with a pair of converse and a leather jacket. Although, he knew if someone pointed a gun at his head, he couldn’t have stated what colour these items were, because the composite picture was one of sheer beauty.

He’d been a goner from the moment he’d seen her in the garage. But the way she pressed her lips into a grim line and tensed her shoulders, as if about to wade into battle, telegraphed that she was less assured than she seemed. 

He found that oddly endearing.

“Don’t say it. I know I look ridiculous.”

“That...wasn’t what I was going to say at all.” 

“So what is it?”

“You look...” he tried to find the words. “Stunning.” 

A tension stretched between them as they stared at each other. It had nothing to do with their physical proximity and everything to do with a heated new awareness – slow but certain, blazing to life.

“These are for you.”

She looked down at the bouquet of tulips and... was she blushing? 

God, he was going to be a complete idiot tonight. 

“Oh, wow. Nothing says ‘Happy Valentine’s Day’ like blowing two hundred and fifty dollars on dead plants, right?”

_Shit. Shit? Did she hate them? Or god, was she allergic? ...Fuck?_

“Ben. Sorry, that was a terrible joke. They’re really beautiful. Thank you.” 

“Oh. Right. No problem.”

“Want to come in while I put them in some water?” she asked. 

He did want to, and stepped over the threshold to join her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We’re off to the races. Read on for Chapter 2!
> 
> BIG SHOUTOUT TO YL, my beta reader who whipped this story into fighting shape. Thanks also to @Minkaroo, @potatotaters, and @hereforastarwar for their suggestions.
> 
> Excuse my artistic liberties with LA, and car terminology.
> 
> [1955 Mercedes 300SL Gullwing](https://www.mercedes-benz.com/en/classic/history/mercedes-benz-300-sl-gullwing-amelia-island)
> 
> (Those wingdoors tho.)
> 
> The story continues...


	2. Shut Up and Drive

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reminder that the fic's rated E 👀

* * *

They didn’t make it to Maz’s for Tacos.

Or to Griffith Observatory for the _Edge of Space_ exhibit. 

Or to the Western Canyon Road lookout point, which is where Ben had planned to stop the car, grab his binoculars, and maybe put his arm on the back of Rey’s seat to point out Orion’s Nebula in the sky. 

Instead, Rey laid down on the beat-up leather couch and Ben was on his knees in front of her, one hand fastened onto her waist, the other pushing her left knee open, and his mouth was clamped on her cunt as if it were the only source of oxygen left in the world.

He couldn’t totally remember how they’d ended up here. But there’d been a feeling of inevitability about it, hadn’t there?

Rey’s moan reverberated through her body as he licked at her pussy and paused to lay kisses across her labia, inner thigh, and clit – before he trailed one hand down and dipped a finger inside her. 

She was soaking wet. He wanted to set up a goddamned P.O. Box and live in that moment, forever. 

As he honed in on a combination of one finger crooked inside her and a circular licking motion that elicited an impassioned whine from Rey, a small part of Ben’s mind did actually recall the sequence of events that had led to this. 

He had stood a respectful distance from her in the kitchen as she arranged the flowers in a ceramic vase. She spent an inordinate amount of time on it, which was alright with him. She might’ve initiated this date, but her guardedness was apparent when she opened the door. It was important to him that she felt comfortable.

On the wall over the sink was a blueprint of a ‘67 Pontiac, in a make that he hadn’t seen in a while. He stood shoulder-to-shoulder with Rey to peer at the frame while her hands flitted over the amethyst blooms, and he pretended not to notice her nervousness.

“Firebird?”

“Hm? Oh, yeah. My parents were big into vintage cars.”

“Funny, mine too.”

“Yeah. That was actually the first time they walked me through how to hotwire a car, and it was the last thing they left before they...”

He waited.

“They weren’t around much.” Rey finished.

“Mine neither, to be honest.”

Their eyes met then, and held. Both of them detected the questions and the stories that would flood forth if either of them pulled at the stopper. But they didn’t.

“Would you like to –”

“Should we get –”

Another awkward silence as she adjusted the vase on the countertop. 

Meanwhile, he tried not to gawk as she swiped a hand back and forth through her hair, as if reaching for her normal ponytail might ground them back down to a conversational safe-place. 

Was she worried about how she looked? That made no sense. 

A question surfaced from his subconscious, unbidden, and he wondered how it might feel to run his fingers through her hair. Chestnut waves of it under his hand as he showered her with decadent murmurs of praise. She was a line of cryptic code, and he wanted to know it.

Apparently Valentine’s Day also made him a Millennial Byron.

In an attempt to assuage Rey’s worry, Ben’s hand shot out and caught her wrist. The side of her cheek felt soft under his fingers.

“You’re perfect, Rey. Just as you are.”

There it was. Startlingly intimate. He didn’t care. 

The statement hovered in the air between them, and the expression on her face was like an animal’s, caught in the high beam of a careening vehicle.

He could see that Rey’s pupils were blown wide, an inky new moon inside the galaxy of her eyes.

Her pulse jumped, gentle and erratic, between his fingertips, which were still pressed to her wrist. 

But she didn’t bolt. Or push him away. And on her next inhale, she snapped her arms around his shoulders, and kissed him until he couldn’t see straight. 

As she grabbed the collar of his shirt and dragged them over to the couch, they managed to get some basic mechanics out of the way:

“Clean?” Yes, and yes. 

“Condoms?” Yes, she said she had some in her drawer, and honestly, he’d been confident about his chances tonight and brought some anyway. 

“I’m on the pill,” she said as she peeled his shirt off, flung her jacket on a chair, and kicked off her shoes. 

“Great. Can I eat you out?” 

She’d nodded, yanked off her panties and tossed them somewhere behind the couch, before she pulled his face back down to hers and sent his mind into another tailspin. 

So there she was, skirt hiked up to her stomach, straps of her dress down near her perfect little nipples that pebbled in the cool evening air. The daisy print of the fabric fanned out under his chin made him chuckle – his very own R-rated Marimekko. 

Rey’s knees were splayed open, and he licked on. His cock was rock-hard, and every inch of him hungered to get her to the edge where she’d give him everything; the release he’d craved from her since she first put him in his place at the garage. 

One of Rey’s hands curled in his hair, which frankly hurt a bit when she pulled too hard, but he liked it. The other pressed on the bare skin of his left shoulder, a sliver of contact that was enough to set his nerves alight. 

“Please, Ben. Ahhhhh –” 

She was so close. Two fingers deep in her, he felt it too.

He knew what he had to do.

When he added a third finger and quickened his tongue on her clit, he had to clamp down on Rey’s stomach because she cried out a hoarse “ _oh my god_ ” and arched upwards as she came. The evidence of her pleasure soon formed slow liquid rivulets down his wrist.

He finished sucking on her swollen clit with a clean _pop_ and looked up at her through his lashes, satisfied.

The expression on her face – heated, spent, and vulnerable all at once – made his heart skip a little. 

Her eyeliner was also completely ruined. He rubbed a thumb slowly under her right eye, examining this personal token of their sexual delinquency, and she held on to him like she’d found an anchor at sea. 

All they could hear was the tick-tock of the clock and the drip-drip of the faucet in her kitchenette as they looked at each other.

“Um, so, I don’t normally –”

“Rey, that was, uh...”

“Usually squirting only happens when I use –”

“I’ve never seen...you’re...” 

“...Yeah. Me neither.”

“Wow.”

He didn’t care that it was still spectacularly awkward between them. Maybe it would be for a while. 

But he did know that he wanted to make her do that again. 

As ever, she beat him to the chase.

“Ben, I want you to take me to bed, and I’d like to put my mouth on your indecently beautiful cock, and then I want you so deep inside me that I forget how to say my own name.”

“You don’t have to ask twice,” he said, as he leaned forward to scoop her up in his arms and carry her away.

**##**

A faint voice in Rey’s head told her she wasn’t getting her rental deposit back. 

They’d made a complete mess. Granted, the couch had been a lost cause before she’d moved in, but she was pretty sure she’d have to disinfect it, not to mention she could never look at it the same way ever again.

The chintzy lavender lamp they’d knocked sideways while she kissed him in the landing and he tried to unbutton his jeans, that was a goner.

The fern on the floor she’d kicked over as she shoved Ben against a wall to grab at his cock through his boxers, well – no huge loss, since her watering schedule had been negligible at best. 

The steady squeak of the bed indicated that its mattress coils might prove costly to replace or exceedingly durable, she wasn’t sure which. 

She also hadn’t realised that it was humanly possible to be fucked this hard, and this fast. Fifteen minutes ago, finally divested of all their clothes, they’d knelt in front of each other on the bed. 

“Ben,” she’d murmured, as reached out to take him by his shaft. She was pleased to see evidence of his significant arousal as she shifted to lie beneath him.

Then, she took his cock in her mouth. His vocal response was all the encouragement she needed to stroke her pussy harder as she sucked him off at the same time, sending them both higher on an infinity loop of shared pleasure. 

The quiver of his strong thighs and Ben’s low moan were the telltale signs that he was near the finish line. So Rey pulled back and shifted her gaze up to his face.

“Ben? Look at me.”

“Rey, I can’t… I don’t… I’m going to –”

“I want to see you. Look at me.” 

“Jesus. Please don’t stop talking like that.”

Oh, so he liked when she ordered him around. This, she could provide. 

“Shhhh. You’ve been so good. Spectacular,” she said as she worked him in her hands. “I think someone has been a...”  
  


“Wh – What?”

“I said: I think someone has been –”

“Say it. Please say it.”

It gave her a strange rush, knowing that a few simple words could be his undoing.

“No.”

His breath was unsteady as he looked down at her, cock rigid. His cheeks were flushed pink, a sight she found hilariously at odds with his raffish demeanour from when they’d first met, but also completely unsurprising. 

“Here’s what’s going to happen, sweetheart,” Rey said. “As a reward for your hard work, you’ll scoot yourself over there, put your hands all over me, and then make good on your promise to fuck me so hard that I won’t know A from B in the English alphabet.”

She pushed herself up from the bedspread at the same time that his hands snaked up to encircle her waist, and his body was a radiator against hers as she kissed him. 

“Think you can do that?” she asked, as they surfaced for air. 

The heat in his expression was enough to liquify. 

And then it was a heady mix of quiet nods, clasped hands and tangled limbs as they moved from their position from the end of the bed to one where Ben could lie back against the headboard. As Rey anchored herself and sank down onto him inch by delicious inch, she surrendered to sensation. 

_Well, shit._

Once she’d taken him all in, they didn’t move. The pulse of her cunt around him was tight and steady as their chests rose and fell against each other’s. 

“You okay?” she finally asked.

“Stellar.”

“You looked a little lost there for a second.”

“Yeah.”

She wriggled her hips on him.

“Gonna start moving anytime soon?”

A muscle under his left eye twitched, as if he found something funny, but was trying to school his expression.

“Rey, I want you to know one thing before I fuck you for real,” he said, in a clipped tone fit for an audiobook.

“Lemme guess. Your parking stub’s about to expire?”

“...No.”

“Did you forget to feed your prized Betta Fish?”

“No. And I have someone to do that for me.”

“‘Course you do. Hmmm. I’m one of the chattiest women you’ve ever slept with?”

“Well, yeah, from any gender.” _Interesting._ “I mean. The chitchat’s new, but I don’t mind. Still not it, though.”

“So, what?”

“The thing is,” he said, still balls-deep inside her, “I’m trying to enjoy this. Because once we start, there’s not going to be time for an intermission.”

“Is that so?”

“Yeah.”

“Is this the part where it’s a challenge, or a promise?”

“This is the part where you shut up, because it’s my turn now.” 

Rey had half a mind to tell him this was her bedroom and he should brush up on his manners, but the determined thrust of his hips wiped out any cogent response from her brain. 

It would come back to her in flashes, later. How the world went blurry at the edges as Ben‘s fingers stroked circles onto the small of her back, the smooth grain of the nightstand under her hand as she held on for leverage, the hitch of her breath as he gathered her hair at the nape while he fucked into her from behind.

Sometime between her third and fourth orgasm, he positioned her so she rested on her side. Their bodies formed a mesh of contact points as he laid flush against her back and entered her from behind. 

“What’s the capital of Monaco?” he choked out, between thrusts.

“Wh– What?”

“What is the capital city of Mo – oh, _jesus_ ”

“Are you really asking – oh god – this is – _shiiiiiit_ ,” Rey moaned, as Ben continued to move inside her. “Are you really asking this right now?”

“You started it. It was a challenge.”

“Well _congratulations_ , because you win.” 

“Good.” Ben mouthed into her cheek. 

Not long after, she was halfway lost in Ben’s muttering into her ear before he paused and asked: 

“Rey, you’re amazing, and I’m so fucking close. Can I come inside you?” 

And she’d nodded yes, yes he could. 

So he buried his nose in her neck as he pumped in and out of her in ever-faster strokes. Then Rey clenched down hard around Ben for a final time as she turned her face towards his and whispered “good boy” – and his exclamation of surprise was benefaction as he came, with his breath hot on her shoulder. 

The world seemed to shift on its axis as Rey recovered. Orientation, sensibility, sanity… what were words? What was thought?

At least, she mused, he’d made good on all his promises. She felt fuller and more fucked than she’d ever felt in her entire life.

There wasn’t much time to talk after that, because he laid kisses on her face as they floated back down to earth, and she turned to stare up at the ceiling, stunned for once into silence. 

He, on the other hand, seemed content to peer down at her from where he was propped up on one elbow, and the thing that alarmed her the most was his expression – something dangerously close to wonder unfurling on his face. 

  
  


**##**

It could’ve been minutes or hours later. Rey didn’t know, because she and Ben fell asleep. 

As she woke and her brain did an inventory of her surroundings, she noticed the haphazard tent of the blanket on top of them, Ben’s heavy arm thrown across her waist, and a feeling of warm wetness between her legs. 

Fuck. She’d dozed off after he came inside her. She recalled they’d checked on each other, briefly, before they did.

“Was that good?” Ben asked.

_Yes, yes that was good_ , Rey thought. _One of the most spectacular series of orgasms in my entire life, actually. Where did you learn to do that? Where have you been this whole time?_

But she wasn’t about to have half an emotional breakdown or a midnight confessional with a guy she’d just met. So she nodded, stroked the stubble on his jawline and smiled instead. 

Right. This was Ben, the tall drink of water who’d come to fix his car; except she’d apparently left every single one of her inhibitions on the garage floor between this morning and just now. The proof of it was butt-naked in her bed. 

At least Rose couldn’t accuse her of not laying the pipe. 

Ben’s snore brought Rey’s brain back to the present, and his relaxed expression gave her pause as she crawled out of bed. 

Surely he didn’t want to stay. It wasn’t like this was her first time at the rodeo. Her trip to the bathroom usually offered the requisite window for the other person to pull on their clothes and escape, shutting the door behind them so quietly they thought she couldn’t hear. But the squeaky hinge that she never quite got round to fixing always gave away an oft-experienced truth: that her partners, one-night-stand or not, always found other places to be.

Sure enough, the door emitted the telltale creak and Rey counted to thirty in her head. She pictured Ben shuffling out of the house and into his getaway car. They’d both scratched the itch they needed, and there wasn’t a reason for him to hang around. 

Which was fine. She kept her circle deliberately small. She was used to this. 

After she peed, washed her face and brushed her teeth, Rey opened the door to her room once more. Maybe there’d be a dent in the bed where Ben had been, and the sheets would still be warm. Maybe there’d be an errant sock or something that he would’ve forgotten, but would never come back to retrieve. 

To her surprise, he sat up, chest still bare, and squinted at her as if she were an apparition. 

Which was weird. Because this was her bedroom. And this was the part when men like him were usually long gone. 

But then again, judging from the way the day had unfolded, Ben didn’t seem to care _too_ much about following the conventions of contemporary courtship. If there’d been a playbook on how to do this, they’d tossed it out from the start.

And maybe she liked that about him. Maybe she liked that quite a lot.

She watched as Ben rubbed the sleep out of his eyes.

“Went to get a glass of water. Where’d you go?” 

“Just cleaning up,” she replied, in a valiant attempt to keep things light. “You’re up in Malibu, right? If you take the 405 onto the 10, you can get back in an hour. And if you really step on it, you could catch the burger truck on Slauson – the deep-fried jalapeños are totally worth the triple bypass.”

His eyes searched hers then, and paused. Odd how she was stark naked, but felt more exposed by her lame jalapeño joke than any of the sexual gymnastics they’d done earlier.

“I’d… like to stay, actually. If that’s okay with you.”

“You’re not obliged to.”

“But I’d like to. Rey, I...”

The silence. Again.

“That was incredible. You’re incredible,” he said. “I mean, we don’t have to have sex again. If you don’t want to. Or if you’re busy in the morning. With...work.” 

_Not have sex again? Was he insane? And why was he talking about work?_

“But maybe we could grab breakfast tomorrow, and just… talk?” he added.

Oh. 

He wanted to… he didn’t mind...

This guy was… yeah. _Yeah._

It was simple, and it was unsaid. But she knew that just like the highway lines of a map spread out under her palms, new roads stretched ahead of them, with possibilities laid out in a thousand different ways.

Funny, how nice it felt. The promise of adventure with someone new. 

“Okay.” Rey finally said, from the doorway. “But I’m warning you, I steal the blanket.”

He smiled.

“Fine with me. I run hot anyway.”

“I’ll _definitely_ vouch for that,” Rey replied. 

She flicked off the bathroom light and crossed the room to burrow under the covers. In response, Ben scooted over from his side (a small part of Rey was thrilled to call it “his side”), and joined her at the centre of the bed. 

For a second Ben looked uncertain about what to do, so Rey snuggled into his chest. The palm of his hand traced the ridges of her spine, which felt good, and right. 

“If you’re talking brunch, we’re not going to some overpriced Instagram spot like Skwirrl, by the way. It’s dirty pancakes at Mos Eisley’s or bust.” Rey declared.

“Yeah, cool. Always thought Skwirrl’s furniture was better made for museums and not a human ass, anyway.”

“Mmm. But you do have a very nice ass, Mr. Solo.”

“Thanks. You too.”

There was a pause before they both burst into laughter, half tinged with amazement at the events of the day, half terrified because it was new. Something more tender was squirrelled within it too, a fleeting but certain kind of joy. 

Then, they said goodnight, and Ben’s embrace was a personal furnace around her as he fell asleep. 

Just before she drifted off, Rey jolted awake, because she remembered a crucial thing.

The intermittent buzz of Rey’s phone was a sure sign that Rose had messaged, probably in various guises of panic shrouded in cat memes, to check if everything was okay.

Rolling onto her stomach with care so as not to wake the sleeping giant next to her, Rey reached for her phone. The other texts could wait, but she opened and skimmed Rose’s, who true to form, had written:

Rey chuckled and fired back.

Rey’s arm had reached halfway out to toss her phone onto the nightstand, before she stopped, and typed the most important part.

Rey grinned and turned her phone face down. Perhaps her dislike of Valentine’s Day warranted a rethink, after all.

Then, she switched off the lamp and surrendered herself to sleep – enveloped in warmth, contentment, and love.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again thank you to my ace beta reader YL, and to @potatotaters + @Minkaroo + @hereforastarwar for the additional notes.
> 
> I originally had a very different vision for this story with more of a caper-through-LA vibe but once I started writing, things went in a different direction. Perhaps in an epilogue they’ll actually go on the date Ben planned…
> 
> One more car link:
> 
> [1967 Pontiac Firebird](https://classiccars.com/listings/find/1967/pontiac/firebird)
> 
> Chat to me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/bobaheadshark)
> 
> Finally, if you enjoyed this or have general thoughts, feel free to leave kudos and/or a comment!
> 
> Thanks for reading.


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